"Depending on the amount you have to warm up," Ceri whispered, her eyes distant in memory. "So be careful with your bathwater until you know what you're doing." Visibly pulling herself back to the present, she turned to me. "Are you settled now?"
Adrenaline zinged through me, and I set my warm coffee down. I can do this. If Ceri can warm her tea and spindle line energy in her head, then so can I.
"Fill your center," she encouraged. "Then pull some from it as if you're going to work a spell as you say your invocation word."
I tucked a curl behind my ear and settled myself. Exhaling, I closed my eyes and I tapped the line, feeling the pressures equalize in an instant. Setting my mind to the poised calmness I cultivated when I said a ley line charm, a curious, new sensation tingled through me. A tinge of energy flowed in from the line, replacing what I had unconsciously pulled from my chi. Tulpa, I thought, hope bringing me tight.
My eyes flew open as a wash of force flowed in from the line to replace what had darted from my chi to my head. In a torrent, the line raced through me and settled in my thoughts. My enclosure expanded to take it in. Shocked, I did nothing to stop it.
"Enough!" Ceri cried, rising to her knees. "Rachel, let go of the line!"
I jerked, pulling my focus from the ley line. There was a brief swish of warmth through me as a dribble of force back-washed from my thoughts to my chi, topping it off. Breath held, I froze in my chair, staring at her. I was afraid to move, there was so much energy in my head.
"Are you all right?" she said, not settling back down, and I nodded.
From the kitchen came a faint, "You okay in there?"
"We're fine!" I carefully shouted back, then looked at Ceri. "We're fine, right?"
Green eyes wide, she bobbed her head, not dropping my gaze for an instant. "You're holding a lot of energy outside your center," she said. "But I've noticed your chi doesn't hold as much as mine. I think…" She hesitated. "I think an elf's chi can hold more than a witch's, but witches seem to be able to hold more in their thoughts."
I could taste the energy in me, tinfoil-like on my tongue. "Witches make better batteries, huh?" I quipped weakly.
She laughed, her clear voice going up to the dusky rafters. I wished there were pixies up there to dance amid the sound. "Maybe that's why witches abandoned the ever-after sooner than elves," she said. "Demons seem to prefer witches over elves or humans for their familiars. I thought it was because there were so few of us, but maybe not."
"Maybe," I said, wondering how long I could hold all this force without spilling it. My nose tickled. I desperately didn't want to sneeze.
Ivy's boots in the hallway intruded, and we both turned as she strode toward us with her purse over her shoulder and a plate of cookies in her hand. "I'm headed out," she said lightly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Want me to walk you home, Ceri?"
Immediately Ceri stood. "That's not necessary."
Ire flickered in Ivy's eyes. "I know it's not necessary."
Ivy's plate of steaming cookies hit the desktop before me in a harsh clatter. My eyebrows rose, and I swung my feet to the floor. Ivy wanted to talk to Ceri alone—about me. Bothered, I tapped my fingernails in a sharp staccato. "I'm not eating those," I said flatly.
"It's medicinal, Rachel," she said, her voice heavy with threat.
"It's Brimstone, Ivy," I shot back. Ceri shifted from foot to foot in obvious discomfort, but I didn't care. "I can't believe you gave me Brimstone," I added. "I arrest people who do Brimstone; I don't share rent with them." I was not going to tag Ivy. I didn't care if she broke every law in the I.S. handbook. Not this time.
Ivy's stance went aggressive, her hip cocked and her lips almost bloodless. "It's medicinal," she said sharply. "It's specially processed and the amount of stimulant in it is so low you can't even smell it. You can't smell Brimstone, can you? Can you?"
The ring of brown about her pupils had shrunk, and I dropped my gaze, not wanting to trip her into pulling an aura. Not now, with the sun almost down. "There was enough in it to jerk the bane into play," I said sullenly.
Ivy, too, calmed, knowing she had reached her limits. "That wasn't my fault," she said softly. "I never gave you enough to even trigger a Brimstone dog."
Ceri raised her narrow chin. There was no remorse in her green eyes. "I apologized for that," she said tightly. "I didn't know it was illegal. It wasn't the last time I gave it to someone."
"See?" Ivy said, gesturing to Ceri. "She didn't know, and that insurance guy was only trying to help. Now shut up, eat your cookies, and stop making us feel bad. You've got a run tomorrow and you need your strength."
Leaning back in my swivel chair, I pushed the plate of vamp cookies away. I wasn't going to eat them. I didn't care that what I had kept down yesterday had upped my metabolism so my black eye was already turning yellow and my cut lip was healed. "I'm fine."
Ivy's usually placid face clouded over. "Fine," she said sharply.
"Fine," I shot back, crossing my legs and turning so I was eyeing her askance.
Ivy's jaw clenched. "Ceri, I'll walk you home."
Ceri glanced between us. Face empty of emotion, she bent to get her teapot and cup. "I'll take care of my dishes first," she said.
"I can do that," I rushed to say, but Ceri shook her head, watching her feet so as not to spill as she made her way to the kitchen. I frowned, not liking her doing domestic work. It was too much like what I imagined Algaliarept had forced on her.
"Let her do it," Ivy said when the sound of Ceri's steps ended. "It makes her feel useful."
"She's royalty," I said. "You do know that, don't you?"
Ivy glanced into the dark hallway as the sound of running water filtered out. "Maybe a thousand years ago. Now she's nothing, and she knows it."
I made a puff of air. "Don't you have any compassion? Doing my dishes is degrading."
"I have a lot of compassion." A flicker of anger set Ivy's thin eyebrows high. "But the last time I looked, there weren't any openings for princesses in the want ads. What is she supposed to do to give her life meaning? There aren't any treaties for her to make, no rulings to judge, and her biggest decision is to have eggs or waffles for breakfast. There's no way to give herself a feeling of worth with her old royalty crap. And doing dishes isn't degrading."
I leaned back in my chair in a show of acquiescence. She was right, but I didn't like it. "So you have a run?" I prompted when the silence stretched.
Ivy sent one shoulder up and down. "I'm going to talk to Jenks."
"Good." I met her eyes, relieved. Something we could talk about without arguing. "I stopped at that Were's house this afternoon. The poor guy wouldn't let me in. The pixy girls had been at him. His hair was solid cornrows." I had woken up one morning with my hair braided into the fringe of my afghan. Matalina had made them apologize, but it took me forty minutes to untangle myself. I would give just about anything to wake up like that again.
"Yeah, I saw him," Ivy said, and I sat up from my slouch.
"You've been over there?" I asked, watching Ivy get her coat from the foyer and return. She slipped it on, the short leather jacket making a soft hush of silk against silk.
"I've been over there twice," she said. "The Were won't let me in, either, but one of my friends is taking him out on a date so Jenks will have to answer the door, the little prick. Typical little man. He has an ego the size of the Grand Canyon."
I chucked, and Ceri came in from the back. Her borrowed coat was over her arm and the shoes that Keasley bought her were in her grip. I wasn't going to tell her to put them on. She could walk in the snow barefoot as far as I was concerned. Ivy, though, gave her a pointed look.